


The Man That Nobody Knew

by Whitaker C Sour (slowmobanana)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prosthesis, Recreational Drug Use, Small Town Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowmobanana/pseuds/Whitaker%20C%20Sour
Summary: It’s a half-heartedly cold morning when Dan receives a call from a man named Michael Jones. He says that Gavin Free, a mutual friend, went missing a week ago. This is particularly strange because, as far as Dan knew, Gavin has been dead for the last three years.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Like Night Follows Day

**Author's Note:**

> How long has it been since someone wrote anything Dan-centric? Did I want an excuse to write Dan and Michael going on adventures together 'cause they're my favourites? Yes. Am I still writing ACHIEVE: Origins? Yes. How much of this story is planned? Yes.
> 
> Don't judge me.

_ “Knowing someone isn't coming back  
doesn't mean you ever stop waiting.” _

― Toby Barlow

* * *

Pimberton was old brick and dusty glass, quartz signs and marble statues. Remastered buildings rolled long, black asphalt like a carpet, dotting each side with black iron streetlights that were once lit by fire.

Main Street was lined with businesses: a floral shop with a tall, blond man tending the flowers out front; a pub called Dig Dug; a rundown movie theatre; a general store; a barbershop; something that resembled a mall; and a small church composed of marble and stained glass. The street went straight for a while, out of the town, fading into a cloudless white-blue sky.

Dan could have walked onto a movie set and not known the difference.

It was about eight miles out of Austin and he racked up quite a cab fare getting there. No busses came out this way nor trains. It was no tourist spot: just a place where people lived.

The cab pulled up in front of the hotel and eased to a stop. “That’ll be seventy-three eighty,” the driver said, passing a debit machine over his shoulder.

“Cheers.” He tapped his card to the machine, tipped well for the lack of conversation.

The cabbie took back the machine and set it on his dashboard. “Uh, do you need any help with your luggage?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Sure.”

Dan gripped his bronze-head cane in one hand and opened the door with the other.

Warm wind buffeted against his face, pushed around his hair and tugged at his clothes. The sun burned against the back of his neck and whatever else wasn’t clothed by t-shirt and jeans. His eyes were drawn to the golden lettering, a cursive font he could barely make out; The Birch Bunker. His gaze fell slowly, examining dark windows and posters plastered to the lobby glass.

And then he finally saw Michael beneath the hotel awning.

He stared at the ground with a thousand-yard stare, his shoulder sagging against the wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. A grey beanie bloated to keep all the curls stuffed under it, rebel strands flicking out from under the brim and dancing in front of bloodshot eyes. He wore a frown that demanded to not be noticed.

Dan caught the faintest scent of weed on the wind.

He leaned his weight on the cane and limped to the trunk of the cab, opened it, pulled out a single, large suitcase, and popped up the handle to wheel it behind him.

He shut the trunk and that caught Michael’s attention. He looked up, his frown fading to a thin line of unexpression. Dan pulled his way up to the hotel. Michael kicked off the wall. “Gruchy?”

“Yeah,” he said. “And you’re Michael Jones?”

“You betcha.” Michael stuck out a hand. “Good to finally meet you.”

Dan let go of the luggage and reached out to accept the handshake. “Likewise.” Michael’s hand was not half as calloused as Dan’s but he had a grip twice as hard. His fingers and his palm were hot and dry, though it had a slight stickiness to them that was neither good nor bad. He shook once, twice, thrice, held, lingered then let go, although maybe not so willingly.

Michael’s eyes flickered to the cane in Dan’s other hand. “You need help with your luggage?”

“No, I’m fine.” He grabbed the handle and gestured for Michael to lead the way, which he did so by holding the door open for him.

The hotel was warm and dark. A single brass chandelier hung from the ceiling, buzzing and dim. The lobby was dotted with round tables in orange cloth all along the left. To the right, a long bar with bottles and bottles and bottles of liquor. The place was mostly empty, save a few men at the bar and a group of elderly churchgoers in the corner, eating dinner. Boot steps and the rubber tip echoed off the dark hardwood floor and flounced around the lobby. Eyes watched him as they made their way to the centre of the room.

Dan looked back at Michael, who shrugged. He turned back to the hotel. “Hello?”

A beat, then a response from up the stairs. “Coming!” Hurried steps padded across the ceiling and, a moment later, a short, stocky man skipped down the steps with a single hand on the railing, eyes trained on where to place his feet. Once he reached ground level, he looked up and smiled. “Hey! How’s it going?” he said. “Are you Dan?”

“I am.” He stuck out a hand and the man took it.

He less shook Dan’s hand and more just held it firmly and vibrated excitedly. He barely held Dan’s hand, only long enough to determine his hands were cold. “Jeremy,” he said. “Sorry for the wait, I was just getting your room together.”

Dan lifted his hand, smiling. “No worries. Much appreciated.”

“Was the travel in alright?”

“Yeah, though I reckon I’ll feel a bit better with a bit of sleep.”

“Fair. You’re in room 102. First floor, take a left and it's the last door on the right.” Dan nodded and started past Jeremy, who hopped aside and started. “Do you need any he---”

“I’m alright, thanks.”

Stairs were only half a pain. All they took was patience, one step at a time. One leg, then another, then pulled his luggage up behind him. Jeremy and Michael watched until Jeremy turned to Michael and the latter shrugged. “So, we still on for next Saturday?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Five minutes later, Dan found himself inside his room. It was a single room with a queen-sized bed that took up most of the space and a big window on the far side, guarded by opaque brown curtains. It was too warm for his liking and the air was stale. Like the rest of the hotel, it was dark wood and cream walls and cheap-looking furniture. The dresser drawers needed a good tug to open them, the nightstand was dotted with burn rings, and the curtains were fraying all along the bottom.

But the bed, Dan realised when he sat on it, was softer than the one he’d slept in at home. The blankets were thin but fleece and the pillows were made with feathers. There was no cheaping out on the bed; that must’ve been where all the money went. Where the rest of the room was cold and indifferent, the bed was like rum after a walk in the pouring rain.

Someone knocked twice on the door. “Come in!”

Michael pushed open the door and didn’t even bother to examine his surroundings. He just kicked off his shoes and crossed over to the window, pulling open the curtains. The blazing sun glared in through the window, but Michael was unbothered and he leaned against the wall. “So,” he said, letting it hang with indecision. Dan adjusted himself to see Michael, half-twisted. “This whole thing is weird, huh?”

Dan nodded, tearing his eyes away from the window. Between a redeye flight and the dazzling afternoon, a c-clamp was tightening behind his ears. He rubbed his eyes. “Tell me about it,” he said.

Michael hesitated, glancing outside briefly before folding his arms and tucking his chin against his chest. “So, how’d he die?”

“Car accident.” Dan lifted his bad leg up onto the bed and tenderly massaged his knee. “Three years ago, on October 4th. He an’ the bloke he was ridin’ with died in the accident and, in the other car, there was a girl who got really hurt but didn’t die.”

“You went to the funeral?”

“No.” A beat. “I was working, got shipped out to Afgan a few days before the accident. I was gone ‘bout…” Dan pursed his lips, shrugged. “Two and a half, maybe three weeks.” Michael nodded. “My turn. When did Gav show up to Pimberton?”

“Three years ago, ish.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

Dan did a damn good job of keeping his voice curious and not accusatory; “Are you just sayin’ that ‘cause you know he died three years ago?”

“Sorry I didn’t write down the exact day he showed up,” Michael snapped. “He was around a while before I ever got to actually talk to him. As far as I know, he just showed up one day. People show up all the time, we didn’t really question it. But he stayed and that’s usually the weird part.”

“Nothing else seemed off?”

“No!” Michael threw his arms up. For half a second, Dan couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “Nothing, at all,  _ ever _ , seemed unusual or suspicious. I mean, he’s British which was pretty fuckin’ wild, but other than that?” Michael shook his head. “Did anything seem weird to you before he died?”

Dan hesitated, pinching his eyebrows together. He took a shallow breath, then shook his head. Michael narrowed his gaze but didn’t say anything. He kicked off the wall and stumbled over to the bed, sitting on the other side.

“So,” he continued. “I’ve been doing some asking around. It seems the last time anyone saw Gav was a week ago at Jack’s general store around six in the morning. Bought fishing wire, some candy, and a battery. Said he was gonna go see a friend in Austin. Then he,” Michael gestured with his hand. “took off and never came back.”

“Don’t reckon it was a week-long trip,” Dan said hopefully and Michael shook his head.

“He hated leaving Pimberton and he hated traveling to Austin even more. Said it was expensive, all that traveling.”

Dan hummed thoughtfully but didn’t press. “Do you reckon he’ll come back?”

“A few days ago, sure.” Michael shifted and folded his hands in his lap. “But when I reached out to you and you said he was dead,” He sighed. “I have my doubts.”

“So, how did you find me, and why?”

Michael took a deep breath. “Honestly, I thought you were the friend he was going to see.” Dan cocked an eyebrow. “He seemed pretty excited. At least, that’s what Jack said.”

“He never mentioned the trip before?”

“Never. It was the only time any of us heard about the trip. As for how I found you, I just… searched you up on Facebook.” He smiled a bit. “Lemme tell you, you got a  _ hell _ of a last name. Made it  _ so _ much easier to find you.”

“That’d be the only plus,” Dan mumbled. “Anything else come out to you?”

“Nah. That’s pretty much all I’ve got so far.” He shrugged. “I haven’t really pressed about it too much. Lotta people are… on edge.”

Dan perked up. “Why?”

“It’s a small town. People get stupid ideas in their head and it gets to every ear eventually. Then you got more people throwing in other shit and it just… gets to be a mess of rumours and false accusations. The pub’s haunted, the florist is a murderer, the brandy’s got a bacteria that causes slow genetic mutation over the course of five years of straight drinking. Shit like that.”

“And what are they saying about Gav?”

Michael took a deep breath, didn’t even get to exhale before he spoke again, “He’s got in too deep over his head and the only way out was to disappear. That, or whatever he was running from  _ made _ him disappear. But, honest to God, no way that dumbass could’ve got himself into  _ that _ much trouble without dragging some other sorry bastard into it.” There was a beat. “But then again…”

Dan sighed. “I just don’t get it. He wasn’t in trouble before, either. Not that I knew of.” Michael stood. He crossed to the door, then paced back. His hands were folded behind his back, watching the hardwood with hard-set eyes. “What was he to you?” Dan asked suddenly.

Michael jumped, frozen on the spot. “Huh?”

“Friend? Coworker?”

“Oh!” He recomposed himself. “Uh, friend, I guess.”

“Good friend? Acquaintance?”

Michael wrestled with himself for a moment, then said, “Good friends, all of us. Me, Jeremy, Lindsay, and Gavin. We’d get hammered as hell every Saturday and spend all night playing video games.” He swallowed and frowned. “It was a good time.”

“Sounds like.” Before they could speak any farther, gentle knocking interrupted with a polite grace. “Come in.”

Jeremy appeared in the doorway, a lopsided smile pinching the corner of his lips. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but, uh, I got some paperwork I need you to fill out. And I should probably give you the key…”

“Right.”

Michael laundered to the door, opening it so Jeremy could enter and he could leave. “I’ll let you get settled in, Gruchy. We can chat more tomorrow or whenever you’re up to it.”

“Cheers,” he said.

Michael left and Jeremy entered, fussing with papers, a pen, and a key. “Anyways, it’s just formalities. Your name here, sign here, read this...” Dan snatched the paper and scooted up the bed to use the bedside table to write on. Jeremy waited for a moment, rocking up on his toes. “So, you’re… here to look for Gav, right?”

Dan looked up, pinched his lips, and nodded. “That’s right.” Jeremy said nothing and Dan returned to writing.

“Why?”

He looked up again. “What do you mean, why?”

Jeremy stepped back, hands up. “I’m just curious. I mean, everyone’s all kinda freaked out about Gav going missing and now suddenly you show up. They’re saying Gavin died, like, years ago, or something.”

Dan hesitated, signing his name after failing to read the same sentence four times. “Got nothin’ better to do,” he said at last, handing back the papers and the pen.

“Oh.” Jeremy’s shoulders dropped. “Right. Fair. I guess.”

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Shoot.”

“What do  _ you _ think happened to Gav?”

Jeremy hesitated, throwing a glance to the door before he spoke. “Honestly,” he said. “I think it was the florist.”

There was a brief second before a light bulb went off. Every part of Dan went cold. “You think he was murdered!”

Jeremy scrambled, waving his arms, “Shh! Sh, sh, do you want the whole town to hear?”

Dan leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee. “Why do you reckon the florist… did it?”

“‘Cause he’s a serial killer!” Jeremy got low, quieting his voice. “Michael won’t listen to me, but you might. Go ask him, see if he’ll tell you anything about Gav. I assure you, it won’t add up.”

Dan pursed his lips, signed one more thing, and handed back the papers. “You’re really convinced he was murdered by the florist?”

“If he isn’t dead, then he probably left because of the guy. I’ve seen them talking a lot before Gavin disappeared. They both seemed pretty pissed.”

“Pissed? What about?”

Jeremy raised his hands, the papers flopping in one of them, and stood straight again. “That’s all I know. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded, turned, and walked to the door… then stopped and turned. “Just, be careful dealing with Ryan, okay? Don’t end up like Gavin.”

Dan watched the door shut behind Jeremy, swallowed into silence. He scratched his stomach, stood, and wandered to the curtains, pulling them shut with a swift movement. He crossed back to the bed and sat at the edge.

Don’t end up like Gavin.

Maybe he had underestimated just what he was getting himself into. Or maybe it was just like Michael had said; fear brought by rumours of a small town. One way or another, he’d get to the bottom of it.

He pulled up his bad leg, his right leg, rolled up his jeans above his knee, grasped at the plastic around his knee, and pulled off the prosthetic with a yank. The pressure on the sides of his knee subsided. The prosthetic was heavy and awkward and cold in his hands, so he didn’t hold it very long. He set it down at his bedside next to the cane, laid, pulled the covers over him, and fell asleep in his day clothes.

***~ &&&~***

Morning came soft through the curtains, faint music wafting him from a dreamless sleep. Dan opened his eyes and didn’t immediately recognise where he was. He shot up, his heart slamming against his chest. He pushed back against the bed, trying to scramble into the wall until memories fell in place. After a stunned moment, he relaxed. This was the hotel room. It wasn’t home but it was still safe.

“Stupid me,” he sighed, running a hand down his cheek then letting it fall to his side.

He fiddled with his prosthetic, found his cane and all his other things, and headed out in the clothes he’d slept in. As he descended the stairs, the music grew louder. The lights were on and there were people all sat at tables or the bar. Some noticed him as he descended down the stairs.

Dan paused halfway down the steps, searching the sea of people for a familiar face, and found Jeremy behind the bar. He made his way down the stairs and across the way, slowly sitting up on the stool, leaning the cane against his leg. Jeremy pulled away from a day drinker to greet Dan with a small smile. “Heya, sleeping beauty. Can I get you anything?”

Dan surveyed the other men at the bar; two of them had what he assumed was alcohol and the last man in a farmer’s hat was nursing what looked like cola. He turned back to Jeremy. “Double whiskey on ice.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart,” Jeremy joked, pulling a whiskey glass from nowhere, tossing it in the air, and catching it again. “Whiskey for breakfast, coming right up.”

“How long you been up?” asked the guy with the pop.

Dan shrugged. “Five minutes.” The men chuckled and Jeremy passed him the glass of whiskey. “Cheers.”

The men all clamoured for their drinks and raised them in the air. “Cheers!” they all yelled and downed the rest of their drinks. It took all Dan had not to burst into a fit of laughter. Jeremy grinned and shook his head and the man with the cola chuckled.

“They think I’m…?” Dan mimicked their motion and Jeremy shook his head.

“No, they did this with Gav, too, just to fuck with him, I think.”

Dan smiled and downed his own drink, shaking his head and handing back the glass. “Right, what do I owe ya?”

“Forget it. First one’s on me,” Jeremy said. “Hell, if you can bring Gavin back, you can have the whole bar.”

Dan grinned and snapped a finger gun. “You’re on,” he said, kicking off the stool with only half a wobble this time. “Can you tell me where I can find Michael’s house?”

“Out the door,” Jeremy explained, gesturing out the front door. “go right, then the first left --- that’s Sparrow Lane --- his is the second last house on the right.”

“Got it. Cheers.”

“Cheers!”

Laughter again and Jeremy scrambled to get drinks for the guys who need one  _ right now _ to cheers with.

Dan tossed a wave over his shoulder and headed out into the arid morning. He squinted in the light. No wind, no shade. He wished he had worn shorts instead, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that yet.

He looked to the right and spotted Sparrow Lane down the road… but when he looked left, he could see the florist's shop. The front door was propped open.

Don’t end up like Gavin.

Liquid courage warmed his stomach. “Well, was in the bloody army, wan’nit I?” he said out loud, then started down towards the florist's with a white knuckle grip.


	2. Sweet Threats

_ “There is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock.” _

― Charles Bukowski, Love Is a Dog from Hell

* * *

The King’s Arrangements had rows and rows of flowers on either side of the door, all red and blooming, obscuring the view in through the windows. Through the propped open door, sunlight unveiled what looked more like a flowery jungle than a store. What wasn’t touched by sunlight was obscured by shadow, including whatever was moving in the back, from right to left then left to right.

Dan took a deep breath, gripped his cane, and stepped into the darkness. The whiskey swished in his stomach, it made his cheeks warm.

It was brighter inside. Cooler. The shadows saturated into colourful petals and strange trees. Potted plants were lined up in fridges and every visible surface was dotted with more plants and dirt. The smell of earth wafted like a cat through the air. He bent down to a lavender bush and pushed it close to his face to smell. “Lovely.”

“Isn’t it?”

Dan jumped. The lavender spilled over sideways and he fumbled once, twice, thrice --- caught it with his free hand --- tripped over himself --- dropped the cane --- smacked his good knee against the ground --- stopped. He gripped the lavender in both his hands now, his mouth shaped into an astonished ‘o’. “Still fuckin’ got it.”

Gently, a pair of hands pulled the pot from his hands and set it aside. “That was pretty impressive.” The stranger offered him an arm. Dan took it and climbed to his feet. The man bent down and picked up the cane, offering it to him. “Here.”

“Cheers.”

The man smiled. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Dan sighed, brushing the knee of his jeans off. “Did the accent give it away, or…?”

“Oh, well,” The man turned and gestured widely, walking back to a table. “You wouldn’t be the first Brit to come through Pimberton but you  _ would _ be the second.” He spun around and leaned against his desk. “What’s your name?”

“Dan,” he said.

“Ryan.” Ryan stood and took two large steps back, offering a hand. Dan took it. Firm grip, firm shake, hands as rough as his, dirt crammed under his fingernails. He even went fancy with placing his second hand over the shake, holding Dan’s eyes with a gentle gaze and faint smile. The fingers of his hands were freezing but the palm was warm. Dan had to wipe dirt off his hands onto his jeans. “Can I assume you’re the one Michael was talking about?”

Dan inclined his head. “You’d be right to do that.”

“And I take it you’re here because you heard I’m a murderer and you want to make sure I didn’t kill him.”

The air wasn’t as cold as Dan expected. He hesitated, chewing his lip, then he shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Get this crossed off the list as soon as possible.”

Ryan tilted his head. “Alright. Here’s the truth: I didn’t kill Gavin.” He leaned back and put his hands up. “As many times as I considered it, I still didn’t kill him.”

“You  _ wanted _ to kill him?”

“Weren’t you and Gavin childhood best friends or something? You figure it out.”

Dan recoiled. “Not  _ childhood _ friends. I mean, yeah, he’s kind of a prick, but he means well and  _ I’ve _ never wanted to kill him.”

Quiet, barely a whisper on the wind; “Gavin  _ never _ means well.”

Dan tsked his tongue and pulled his lips back into a nervous grin. “You know, I’m starting to place you higher on my suspect list. Which, surprisingly, only has  _ your _ name on it. Don’t ask me how you can get higher than one.”

Ryan leaned back, not quite scowling yet. Dan hadn’t completely pissed him off. There was a strangled moment of silence, then Ryan said, “Why did you come all the way to the US to look for Gavin?”

He hesitated, scrambled for a moment to think through muddled thoughts. Maybe he shouldn’t have had that whiskey. “Because he’s my friend.”

“That’s it?”

Dan shrugged. “That’s all the reason I need, I think.”

“You certainly left a lot behind to chase a ghost.”

“I got nothin’ back home that won’t be there when I get back.”

Ryan’s eyebrows pinched upwards, his lips pulled back into a sympathetic smile. “He faked his death for three years and never told you where he went or even that he was alive. He left you behind with everything else --- and yet, you still follow after him like night after day.”

Dan shifted, wrinkling his nose and shifting his weight back and forth. “I’m sorry,  _ what _ ’re you on about?”

“I just think your loyalty to him is interesting.” Ryan tilted his head to the other side. “Since he didn’t even  _ think _ to look for you when  _ you _ went MIA.”

Cold. Cold, cold, everything was  _ freezing _ . His teeth were chattering, he lost the feeling in his arms. Every angry and fearful retort stuck to the tip of his tongue and never dared to pass his teeth. He opened his mouth and tried to make a sound---

“Ryan, leave the poor guy alone.”

Dan whipped around, barely could make out details of the backlit figure. All he could gather was that he might have been staring at a vaguely-human bear.

“Aw, Jack, c’mon,” Ryan whined half-heartedly. “I was just about to make a good first impression.”

Jack came through the door, with a small bag in his hand. Michael filed in behind him and Dan’s heart almost leaped out of his throat. He was still shaking, gripping his cane as tight as he could manage. “You are literally the worst,” Jack sighed, jutting out the fist. Ryan giddily took the bag and retreated to the back. Jack glanced at Dan. “Don’t mind Ryan. He just loves the attention.”

A muffled voice came from the back room. “I heard that!”

“Good!”

Dan laughed, despite himself, though he couldn’t tell if Jack was right or not. “Alright.”

Michael stepped around Jack, arms folded tight across his chest. He didn’t smell like weed this time --- or he did a good job of hiding it. “Mind explaining why you wandered off to the florist’s shop, Gruchy? You see a girl you like?”

“I can go wherever I damn well please,” Dan snapped. “You’re not my mother.”

“Did you forget a man is  _ missing _ and everyone is a suspect?”

“A suspect? Why for?”

Jack sighed audibly but no one said anything until Ryan returned from the back with a bouquet of purple roses. “And for you.”

Jack accepted the roses, turning the bouquet with a pleased inspection. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Ryan.”

“Nah.” Ryan waved a dismissive hand and returned to his spot on the desk. “Colourful roses are the easiest thing in the world to make.”

Jack lowered the roses, staring pointedly. “So, why did I have to go through all that trouble of getting you that special fertilizer if coloured roses are so easy?”

“It’s a matter of meaning, Jack.” Ryan folded his hands over his knee. “The fertilizer means as much to me as purple roses do to you.”

Dan looked to Michael. “I’m confused.”

“Jack needs the flowers ‘cause he’s planning a really important wedding, Ryan needs the fertilizer for some special flower that just came in.”

“Yes! And,” Ryan bounced excitedly in his half-sit like a two-year-old about to meet Santa Claus for the first time. “When I get to breeding these beauties, I’m going to have one of the rarest roses available to buy, here, at my store.”

“Too bad you’re in the middle of assfuck nowhere,” Michael chided. “No one here is gonna give a damn about your two-coloured flowers.”

Ryan shrugged with a single shoulder. “You will.”

Quietly, Dan pointed a finger at Ryan, turned to Michael and mouthed, “Not a murderer?”

“Fuck no!” Michael snapped out loud and Dan leaned back, embarrassed. “Ryan’s not a Goddamn murderer. He’s a fucking florist. He likes  _ flowers _ . Can you imagine Ryan trying to stab someone to death with a fucking rose thorn?”

“Actually,” Ryan interjected, failing to hide the proud smile on his lips. “Larkspur, Foxglove flowers, and Morning Glory seeds, and you’ve yourself a tea to  _ die _ for.”

“Seeds don’t go in tea,” Dan said.

“Then, put them in some muffins and you can make breakfast in bed!”

“Ryan likes to pretend he’s all that,” Michael continued. “But he’s a sentimental bitch who likes people too much.”

Ryan nodded. “There can be no King without subjects to rule.”

“Right,” Dan said. “I’m convinced. Gav must’ve  _ loved _ this guy.”

Ryan’s smile weakened. “He certainly did have an interest in me.”

“Okay, shut up,” Michael snapped, turning on his heel and making for the door. “C’mon, Gruchy, we got a lot of ground to cover.”

“But--- But Jack’s right here,” Dan stammered through disbelief. “He’s the last person who saw Gav. And I’m still talking to Ryan---”

“Jack’s busy planning a wedding,” Michael argued. “And Ryan has nothing new for us. Now, c’mon. We’re gonna go talk to Geoff.”

“Who?”

***~ &&&~***

Geoff was the man drinking pop at the bar with a sweet mustache and an even sweeter hat. Dan liked him the minute he laid eyes on the guy. Michael stood between them, gesturing between the two. “Gruchy, Geoff. Geoff, Gruchy.”

“Howdy,” Geoff said, reaching out a hand and Dan took it. His palm was warm and kind of sweaty. He had a firm but polite grip. He had the best handshake out of all of them, even if Dan had to wipe his hands on his jeans after. “Pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Gruchy. Gav told me a lot about you.”

“So I’ve heard,” Dan said. “If he’d stayed in touch, I’m sure I would’ve heard about you, too.”

Geoff smiled, a warm tone, and his eyes fell to Michael. “I already like him more than Gav.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael snapped. “No, you don’t.” He turned his gaze to Dan. “Gavin was staying with Geoff while he was here. Paid rent by helping him work the farm and such.”

Dan laughed. “Gav did manual labour? Well, I find  _ that _ hard to believe.”

Finally, for the first time since Dan saw him that day, Michael grinned. “Right?”

“He was a good worker,” Geoff defended. “He complained about it all day, but he did the work and he did it well.”

“When you were lookin’, I reckon,” Dan chided. Michael laughed but Geoff shrugged. Whatever friendliness he had garnered was starting to wane and Dan realised, quite quickly, that he’d have to be on his good side if he wanted to know as much as he could about Gavin. “Well, he probably cared more about your farm than Waitrose, anyhow,” he added. “so that probably got him workin’ a little harder.”

The friendliness wasn’t entirely back but Geoff turned on his stool to fully face Dan and Michael and he considered that a win. In the corner of his eye, Michael was watching him. “The fuck is a Waitrose?” Geoff asked.

“Supermarket. Gav and I worked there together, it’s where we met.” Dan gestured inconclusively. “More or less.”

“Ah, a tale as old as time,” Geoff joked and Dan smiled. His eyes flickered to the cane and he was the first one to be bold enough to mention it; “So, can I ask about the cane?”

Dan looked down before Geoff could even finish his question. He struggled for a moment, even though he’d been prepared for questions and even bothered to rehearse the answers in his head, that was the one question he didn’t expect and he didn’t know how to respond. “Helpin’ me walk, innit?” he said, still looking at the ground.

“Oh, okay,” Geoff said like he had no idea what the original use for a cane was. Dan looked up and Geoff was fiddling with his glass.

Dan scrambled for the old air of the conversation, though anxiety was crawling from his stomach to his chest and wrapping itself around his lungs. He rubbed his mouth, struggled. Then Michael said, “Anyways, Dan’s here to help look for Gav, so if you can tell him what you told me, that’d be great.”

Geoff nodded, still running a finger around the lip of the glass. “Right. So, the long and short of it is, uh, Gavin --- before he disappeared --- he mentioned something about going back to England.”

Dan stiffened. “What? He was plannin’ to go back?”

“Sounded like.”

He started, whipping around to Michael. “The fuck did I come here for!?”

“Relax,” Michael sighed, leaning an elbow against the counter. “He didn’t take anything with him. All of his ID, including his passport, are still at Geoff’s house. He’s not getting anywhere without it.”

“Not like he can’t get another one,” Dan argued. “All he’s gotta do is get to the airport all, ‘oh, dummy me, forgot my passport, please deport me back to England’.”

Michael took a deep breath, clenching his jaw. “No, he’d go to jail first, and then we’d be notified because we filed a missing person’s report. He isn’t getting to England without us knowing first.”

“Right!” His tone dripped with sarcasm and bitterness. “Then, he’s at the  _ Houston _ airport!”

“Gruchy,” Michael seethed, inhaling sharply, but he was promptly cut off by the slamming of two cups down on the bar. They turned and Jeremy was standing on the other side of the bar with two double whiskeys in either hand. “Relax, guys. You’re scaring the other patrons.”

Dan scanned the lobby; the talking had quieted and the men at the bar were watching carefully, Michael just as much as him. He took the glass and raised it up. “Apologies,” he announced. “Creative differences.” The murmuring returned, low at first and then gradually growing. Eventually, the bar-goers returned their attention to the sports TVs. Michael quietly took his own drink and downed half it in one go. Dan followed suit, except to down all of it and handed the glass back to Jeremy. “Cheers.”

He turned back to Geoff, who was still fiddling with his drink and eyeing Dan warily. “You still haven’t eaten, have you?”

Dan shook his head.

“Alright.” He didn’t say anything else and just sipped his cola. “So,” he continued. “He said that there was something in England he needed. Er, when I asked, he didn’t really give me a straight answer, so I’m thinking whatever’s in England isn’t really, like… tangible?”

“Tangible?”

Michael folded his arms. “Not a physical object.”

“I know what tangible means,” Dan snapped. “I just don’t know what it could’ve been, if it was an idea’r or somethin’.”

Geoff sighed. “I think I do.” Dan stiffened, casting a sideways glance at Michael then shifting his feet to examine Geoff. “None of  _ his _ stuff was missing… but my rifle is gone.”

Dan jumped. “What? Was he planning to kill someone?” Then the gears clicked. “Oh. Oh,  _ no _ .” He turned to Michael. “He can’t be in England. He  _ was _ gonna go to England because there was something there he needed… but it must come here to him instead.”

“Bingo,” Michael said.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered. “Then Gav must be in some kinda’r trouble.” Panic threatened to spill out his throat but the warmth of whiskey quelled it enough that he could dry swallow it like a pill. It got stuck on the way but at least it went down. He pressed his fingernails against his lips. “What could it be?” He didn’t move, but his eyes flicked up to Geoff.

Geoff raised his hands. “I don’t have any idea beyond that,” he said. “But everything seemed normal up until he, ya know… Vanished.”

Dan leaned against his cane and tilted his head back. “What’d he buy at the general store again?”

“Fishing wire, candy, battery,” Michael supplied.

For a long time, he stared at the ceiling, chewing at his lips. “You reckon all of it was for the same thing?”

Michael shrugged. “Not sure what for.”

A minute passed, then Dan lifted a hand and wagged a finger at him. “We gotta go to the general store,” he said. He turned to Geoff. “Got anythin’ else for me?” Geoff just shrugged and Dan waved dismissively. “Right. C’mon, Jones, we’re going to the general store.”

Dan turned away before Michael could argue. He heard the whiskey glass slam down behind him, followed by a quiet, “He’s fucking worse than fucking Gavin,” but he followed all the same into the bright light of day.


End file.
